


Of Kittens and Intrigue

by Liritar, VeetVoojagig



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Adorable kittens, General snarkiness, M/M, Nebulous canon divergence, Nebulous future AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liritar/pseuds/Liritar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeetVoojagig/pseuds/VeetVoojagig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil, Tarvek, and an elaborate ruse to flush out enemies of the Empire. What more could anyone need?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Lovers and Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> We've been working on this fic for awhile, and began it sometime while Volume 13 was current, so we're outright contradicting most things that happened after a certain point. So, in other words, it's set in a nebulous canon-divergent future world where Mechanicsburg was never frozen in time, or something like that.

A murmur ran through the crowd as the door opened and Prince Tarvek Sturmvoraus swept into the Audience Chamber. He was clad impeccably in expensive blue brocade, and a small grey kitten perched on one shoulder, mewling in protest at being jostled. He strode right at people, obviously expecting them to get out of the way and let him pass.

Notwithstanding that most of _them_ had been waiting for hours to get to the front of the room. This obviously wasn’t a problem he was concerned with.

“Look at him, giving himself airs. Like he’s the most important thing in the room,” a woman sniffed, being careful to keep her voice low so that only her companion could hear her.

He snorted, leaning closer. “It’s disgusting, how they carry on,” he muttered, looking around to make sure they were unobserved. No one was quite mad enough to tell the newly ascended Baron Wulfenbach what he could or couldn’t do with his… well. Whatever title the boy was eventually going to wrangle from his lover. One would think being a prince was enough, but no, he had to attach himself to the most powerful man in the Empire. And then there were rumors that the boy was after the Lightning Throne of the Storm King… The man shook his head. As if that would happen. The boy could barely keep his mind on whatever party he was planning at the moment, much less rule anything. Apparently Sturmhalten had been left in the hands of a competent administrator, and the careful reports sent to Sturmvoraus remained untouched.

And here he was, distracting the young Baron with coats and parties and kittens and… Good Lord, it was going to be poetry again. The man groaned softly and nodded at his companion. “Let’s get out of here. There’s not going to be any more work done today.”

As they slipped out of the room, they could just hear a simpering tone exclaim, “Darling, I wrote you another poem!”

The rest of the crowd watched with varying degrees of polite interest as Tarvek fell into a dramatic pose in front of the ruler of most of Europa and defender of the Pax Transylvania as if this was much more important than anything Gilgamesh Wulfenbach could conceivably be doing. Boris Dolokhov, standing to one side, was obviously gritting his teeth. Gil set aside the papers he was holding and smiled tenderly. “Of course, sweetheart, I’d love to hear it.”

Tarvek opened his mouth to begin, but was interrupted by a sound from the kitten. “Shh, Shadow,” he murmured, pulling the kitten off his shoulder and setting it on the ground. “Papa’s talking to Gilly now, we’ll play later.” The kitten immediately started chewing on the ends of the ribbon around its neck, a deep blue the exact shade of Tarvek’s coat. The prince gave it a quick pat and resumed his pose. He began to recite, gazing lovingly at Gil.

_Wind blowing through the grass_  
 _A storm of roses, petals flying_  
 _All is quiet, no hint of thunder_  
 _As the wind is slowly dying_

_Petals laid out at your feet_  
 _The beauty of your eyes admiring_  
 _Deep pools of light never ending_  
 _And full of wonder never tiring._

Polite applause followed from the surrounding crowd; of course only an idiot wouldn’t praise the young Baron’s lover’s artistic endeavors, especially given the expression on Wulfenbach’s face as he listened. It was obvious that he doted on the other young man. Whether or not he actually enjoyed the poetry was debatable, and was in fact a common matter of discussion when he wasn’t around to overhear, but no one would dare interrupt, and Wulfenbach encouraged the habit. 

Gilgamesh took the prince’s hand and brought it to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the back. “You’ve outdone yourself again, darling,” he said with a smile. 

Tarvek bowed with a flourish. “Only because I have the muse of beauty to spur my pen,” he murmured, eyes glinting. He leapt back suddenly, reaching down to retrieve his kitten. “No, Shadow! We do not claw at Papa’s trousers. Those are expensive.”

A very brief flash of exasperation showed in Wulfenbach’s eyes, but it was replaced by a fond smile. “Why don’t you take Shadow back to our room so he can play? I’ll have tea sent up and join you as soon as I can.” 

The prince grinned. “That’s my brilliant Gilly.” He leaned to kiss the young man’s cheek. “Say good bye to Gilly, Shadow.” He held the kitten out towards Gil, smiling sweetly.

Gil’s smile tightened slightly. “Good bye, Shadow. Be good for Papa.” He reached up and scratched behind the kitten’s ears, then dropped his hand again. He idly leafed through the papers Boris had been discussing with him before Tarvek’s intrusion, but it was fairly obvious that his attention was still on his lover. His eyes never left him for long when he was in the same room. 

Cradling the cat against his chest, Tarvek sashayed out of the room, humming to himself. The crowd began carefully talking amongst themselves, the toadies being most enthusiastic and even the most stringent detractors wise enough to keep grumbling quiet. Once the man was gone, Boris cleared his throat, and Gil finally looked at him. “Oh. Yes. My apologies.” He smiled sheepishly and glanced down at the reports. “About the Prague situation…” 

 

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind him, Gil leaned against it, holding his breath and listening until there were no sounds in the hall outside. He let out a sigh and crossed the room. “All right, weasel, what’s your stupid family up to now?” 

“Took you long enough.” Tarvek looked up from where he lounged on the bed. “Like I said, I discovered a few more spies on the castle. I think they’re getting worried. Now that I know who they are, it shouldn’t be a threat.” He grinned slightly. “Your spies are really good. I’m glad they’re on my side this time around.”

Gil gave a snort as he dropped onto the bed beside him, wrapping an arm around him in the first genuine affection he’d been able to show all day. “Of course they’re good. I wouldn’t give you substandard presents. So you’re really not worried?” 

He leaned against him, sighing. “Not really. I mean, not more than normal.” He flashed a wry smile. “It’s my family, of course they’re going to be a problem. If only they’d give us a _reason_ to act against them… I mean, I’ve been acting like an idiot for _months._ Someone _has_ to do something soon or I’ll go mad. We have enough enemies, one of them should have leapt at the chance to pulverize us by now. I mean, it’s a perfect opportunity!” He growled in frustration.

“Shhh, Tar. Patience. It’s working, it really is. You wouldn’t want our enemies to be _too_ stupid. It wouldn’t be any fun for you.” He smiled and ran his fingers through Tarvek’s long, vibrant hair. “Admit it, part of you loves tricking all these people. Me, on the other hand…” He closed his eyes, letting out a huff of breath. “I’m going to be up all night finishing all the work you distracted me from, and that I should be doing _now._ You should have seen the look on Boris’s face when I said I was leaving.” 

Tarvek chuckled softly, closing his eyes and leaning into Gil’s hand. “I’m really worried he’s going to murder me in my bed one night. I don’t think he considers my plots worth his suffering.” At least Gil _did_ sneak back to finish the work he was supposed to be doing. If this had been for real… Well. Boris would have had every right to hate him, Tarvek would freely admit.

Gil raised an eyebrow. “If you let yourself get murdered in bed, you’d deserve it. I’d have to get a new spymaster, of course, but then I’d want one that wouldn’t let himself get murdered in bed, anyway.” 

He snorted. “Please. I’m better than that. Besides, if someone gets into _our_ room, you’d probably be their target anyway.” He kissed him softly and gazed firmly into his eyes. “And I am _not_ letting that happen.”

A smile crossed Gil’s face. It was not a particularly pleasant one. “If anyone tried to hurt you, I would rip them apart with my bare hands.” 

“Gil…” Tarvek cupped his cheek in his hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise.” He smiled wryly. “Very few people think I’m worth bothering with.” After all, he’d been working very, very hard to give the impression that he hadn’t a thought in his head besides his own pleasures. Though he did have to admit, Gil’s ferocity over him was… exhilarating. It made his heart speed up even as he tried to calm the man down.

Oh, well. He was supposed to be a pleasure seeking young rake. It wouldn’t do to fall _too_ far out of character. He crushed his lips to Gil’s, groaning. These moments when they were alone were all he had, really. Just getting to _talk_ to his lover in an intelligent manner was a treat. And Gil was up half the night working on the things he let Tarvek ‘distract’ him from during the day, not to mention Tarvek’s midnight meetings with the spies, or the vespers, who were still under his command. Despite what everyone thought, they barely had a moment for anything like this. And Tarvek meant to make the most of it.

Within seconds he was on his back, Gil’s body pinning him to the mattress. A shiver ran through him. It was sometimes difficult to reconcile the Gil that everybody saw, the gentle, considerate, _civilized_ Gil, with the Gil that wanted something, especially now, in the madness place. One was no less real than the other. And, Sweet Lightning, he loved being what Gil would do anything to possess. He whimpered softly, threading his fingers through his lover’s wild, uncontrollable hair.

Suddenly Gil let out a yelp and pulled away, reaching behind him. A second later he was holding the kitten by the scruff of the neck, growling softly. “This _damn_ cat!”

“Oh, stop that, idiot!” Tarvek reached out and took Shadow from him. “It’s not _his_ fault he’s such a useful tool.”

“It _is_ his fault that he had his claws in my butt!” Gil sat back on his heels, glowering.

He grinned at Gil, stroking the kitten. “Shhh. I won’t let the bad man hurt you.” Shadow mewed softly, butting his head into Tarvek’s hand. He smiled tenderly down at him. “You’re a good boy, whatever that idiot says.”

A disgruntled expression rested on Gil’s face, and he rolled his eyes. Suddenly he laughed softly. “You know, the odds in the betting pool are evening a bit. Some people have actually started putting money on me strangling the cat in front of you. Still, a mysterious disappearance remains the most popular choice.” 

Tarvek snorted. “You hurt my baby, and I’ll stick a knife in you.” He set the cat on the floor. He flashed a grin. “We should get Boris to place a bet for us, we can make a fortune.”

Gil snorted. “So, you’re going to let me choose how I kill the cat? Nice of you.”

“You’re awful.” He kicked at his lover playfully, grinning. “We could put money on you _not_ killing my cat.”

The young Baron pretended to look hurt. “So I don’t get to kill it at all?”

“No, idiot.” Tarvek laughed softly, and pulled him close, kissing him tenderly. “I suppose we can’t have Boris make a bet for us. People might think he had inside information, and since he does, it would ruin everything.” He sighed dramatically.

“I’m sorry your plots make life difficult for you,” Gil muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Hmf. These are your plots as much as mine, Wulfenbach.” He tugged gently on Gil’s hair. “As much as I hate to admit it, you had some good ideas.”

The other man chuckled softly. “You mean the best ones.”

“Get wound.”

Gil growled and pounced on him, and for a brief while they forgot all about plots and plans.


	2. Of Empires and Plots

“There you are.” Tarvek gazed down at his errant kitten, happily enjoying the attentions of several young ladies of the court. One of them made to rise, and he waved a hand. “No, no. Shadow will be most displeased if you stop.” He flashed a charming grin. He dropped to the ground, inserting himself into the circle and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a clockwork mouse. “I just wanted to give him his new toy. The silly boy keeps losing them, so I have to keep making more.” He shook his head, projecting an air of doting fondness.

The ladies giggled in delight as Shadow pounced on the mouse, which managed to evade his clawed clutches. Tarvek had to admit to himself that he’d done his job well. It certainly looked like no more than a clever toy. Too many people knew he was a Spark for him to stop altogether, but he’d managed to keep himself to frivolous pursuits here as well as in his public persona. And these mice were such a perfect ruse. They got lost so easily, and people were used to seeing them about. It would take a Spark of high caliber to find his other modifications. These so-called ‘toys’ would creep into overlooked nooks and crannies and store anything they heard, waiting until he activated the receiver. A work of genius, if he said so himself. Of course it was; it was one of his designs. He had to suppress a smug smirk.

And it was time to sing for his supper, as the saying went. He couldn’t afford to give anyone, even these foolish girls, a chance to think he wasn’t as empty-headed as he appeared. “I do hope you all are coming to my party next week,” he gushed, his tones sickeningly sweet to his ears. “I know I sent out invitations to absolutely _everyone_. It’s going to be simply magnificent. They’ll be talking about it for ages after. And I’m having a new coat made, it’s going to be fabulous…”

 

A complicated series of knocks sounded from the paneling of a featureless wall. Tarvek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose that’s my cue to go to my meeting,” he grumbled, pulling himself to his feet and placing his hand, seemingly at random, on a spot the same as any other. The paneling slid aside to reveal Boris, waiting patiently. Tarvek flashed a wry smile. “He’s all yours,” he murmured before slipping past the secretary and down the secret passage.

Boris was silent for a moment as he watched the man walk away. Then he sighed, removing his glasses and running a hand over his eyes. “Does he have to do that _every_ time?” he asked plaintively. “He makes it sound like we’re… having some sort of illicit _affair_ behind his back.” A look of unease crossed his face at the very idea.

Gil paused in the process of walking to his desk, looking thoughtful. “You know, I think he _does_ have to,” he murmured, blinking. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Being honest about his emotions makes him… uncomfortable, and… well, you make him feel guilty.”

“I what?” Boris shuffled through stacks of paper, studiously avoiding Gil’s eyes.

“I think he admires you. Oh, not like that,” he said with an exasperated wave of a hand at the sudden look of panic flitting across the secretary’s face. “You’re an honest, hardworking man.” He smirked suddenly. “Everything my weasel _isn’t._ And he’s making things much more difficult for you.”

“Oh. Well.” The man sniffed slightly, setting the papers in front of Gil. “Be that as it may, we have much to do in much less time,” he said, attempting to get them back on topic.

“Of course,” Gil said with a faint smile. “I am, as Tar said, all yours.” He picked up the reports and started reading, soon lost in the business of running his empire.

 

Tarvek strode down the hall towards their room, pondering to himself. The last week had been abnormally quiet. His party had come and gone without incident, at least freeing him up to relax just slightly. Good lord, even _he_ was getting sick of fashion and meaningless chatter. He felt a flash of pity for Gil, having to listen to him babble on without any interest whatsoever.

But still, this quiet unnerved him. Even his spies—or rather, _Gil’s_ spies—had nothing to report. And that was practically unheard of. And he didn’t trust in luck or coincidence, so that obviously meant someone was planning _something._ Gil, of course, thought he was being paranoid. But as time went on, he kept feeling jumpier and jumpier. Something was about to happen.

He was reaching for the door when he heard a step behind him. He feigned obliviousness, but his senses snapped into high alert. No one should be in this corridor. Not at this time of day. Not while Gil was holding an audience… He reached up casually, as if to straighten his lapel, and pressed down, activating the recording mouse in his pocket. Just in case.

The sound approached, almost too light to hear. Anyone with less training might not even have noticed. _Who’s paranoid now?_ he thought inanely as a large hand clamped around his mouth, muffling any sounds he could have made.

There was a dagger in the man’s belt, which could be in Tarvek’s hand in an instant, and his captor’s gut a second later, but that wasn’t the point. Killing him wouldn’t get them any answers. Wounding and capturing had potential, but likely he didn’t even know the grand plan. No, he’d have to let him take him. Obviously, if he’d been an assassin, Tarvek would have been dead by now. So capture was the plan. He made a big show of flailing in a panic, carefully working a ring off his finger and letting it drop as the thug attempted to keep him still and quiet. If Gil found that, he’d know what to do. He’d shown him enough times how to work the mechanism concealed within it, after all.

His captor moved his other hand closer, and Tarvek got a whiff of chemicals that made him feel light-headed. Oh, that wasn’t good. He went limp in the man’s arms, hoping to get a smaller dose than he intended. Anything he could do to get an edge. Even so, it didn’t take long for darkness to overwhelm him.

 

Gil strode down the hall, rolling his eyes as he neared their room and heard the cat mewling plaintively through the door. You’d think Tarvek would give the thing whatever it wanted… He pushed open the door, and immediately the kitten was at his feet, weaving around his leg and yowling at him. “Tar, your cat wants something,” he muttered, moving into the chamber. He paused, looking around. Tarvek wasn’t there. His hand curled slowly into a fist. He’d left several hours ago, stating he was going to play with the cat. Of course, that could have been for the benefit of everyone else, but… Tarvek would have found a way to tell him if something was up, if he had somewhere to sneak off to.

He absently picked up the cat, searching the room for a hint of where Tarvek might have gone. Finding nothing, he stepped out into the hall, frowning. A glint on the floor caught his eye, and he moved over to look. Nestled against the wall was a ring. He picked it up and held it in front of his face. _Tar._ His fist clenched around the circle of metal. He could feel the intricate clockwork ticking within it. 

Tarvek wouldn't have dropped this. Never.

His hand tightened, driving the metal into his palm. "Everything's going to go boom," he whispered harshly.


	3. Of War and Stupidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil's attempts at rescue may be... misguided.

Gilgamesh Wulfenbach did not look like a lovesick fool the next morning when he strode into court. He'd spent the night pouring over reports from Tarvek's copious spy network, and he knew who he was looking for. 

He moved into the crowd, instead of going down the clear aisle that had formed when he entered the room. Surprised courtiers stepped aside quickly, running into each other in their confusion. His hand snapped out and caught the shoulder of a young man before he could take more than one step. "Herr Keller, a word please," he said cheerfully, though the smile on his face was manic. His hand tightened, gripping hard enough to bruise. His head turned slowly, taking in the rest of the court. "The rest of you—out," he said, his eyes hard, his voice suddenly stern. "This game has gone on long enough. I no longer need you." 

He thrust the young man onto the dais, releasing him into his own chair. "If he moves, shoot him," he said to his guards. They looked nervous and confused, but they leveled their weapons.

Keller looked up at him in terror. "I... I... This is insane. I haven't done anything..."

"Shut up. You're going to tell me where Von Blitzengaard is hiding. We know they left the Refuge of Storms because Tarvek knew where it was. Where's he holed up now?" His fist tangled in the man's shirt, pinning him to the back of the chair.

All in all, it only took him fifteen minutes to learn what he needed to. He had picked up much from his father over the years.

 

He stepped over a portion of fallen wall, shouldering his newest death ray. It was large and vastly overpowered, exactly what he needed to destroy the people who'd taken his lover. 

The Thundering Fortress (really, these people loved their myths a bit too much) lay in ruins. His airship fleet had surrounded it, dropping suddenly from the clouds, and rained fire upon it. His troops were now rounding up the survivors. 

He'd worry about innocent causalities, but it _was_ Von Blitzengaard's fortress. They were all up to something.

“What the hell, Wulfenbach?” The man who stomped out of the rubble was large, with vibrant red hair and an angry expression on his face—all of which was common for him. What was new was the coating of dust and soot caked onto his elegant clothing. “We had an arrangement!”

Gil ignored his words and leveled the death ray at him. “ _ **Where is he?**_ ”

Martellus snorted. “Maybe if you told me who you were looking for, I could supply _some_ sort of answer.”

“ ** _You know exactly who I mean. Where. Is. TARVEK?_** ” His eyes glinted with Madness.

The other man stared at him like he had an extra head. “Do you really think I’m that _stupid_?” He shook his head. “The last I’d heard, he was lounging in your boudoir, awaiting whatever perversions you two get up to.” He grimaced slightly.

In an instant Gil had crossed the distance; his hand was around Von Blitzengaard's throat, lifting him against the crumbled remains of the pillar behind him. "He said you were up to something," he shouted. "He was on to you, and now he's gone." He released him, letting him fall to his feet again, but only so he had a better shot at his face. His fist slammed into his jaw with all his enhanced strength.

“Guh.” A hand rose to cradle his aching jaw. “Red fire, you really are simple,” he growled. “What would I have to gain from taking my cousin?” He looked around sardonically. “Obviously I’d be your first suspect, whether or not you had proof.”

That made Gil hesitate. He turned his head, slowly taking in the destruction surrounding them. "I, uh..." He blinked. That... made sense. Of course, he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, but...

"Supposing I believe you," he said. "Tarvek is still missing, and you _were_ the last person he warned me about. It's an unlikely coincidence." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Okay. He'd have to go over his _other_ enemies. One by one. Or he could pound Martellus's smug face in again. That was a good plan...

The red-haired man stopped rubbing his bruised jaw and brushed off his coat with dignity. "Are you telling me that Tarvek allowed himself to be taken somewhere and didn't leave you anything to give you a clue as to where? That's not like him. Unlike everyone in your illegitimate empire, I don't underestimate him." _Not anymore_ was left unspoken. 

Gil stared at him for a moment, then looked down at his hand, where the rubies of Tarvek's ring glinted in the light of the burning fortress. "I, er... Hehe." He flashed a sheepish grin.

Martellus followed his gaze and rolled his eyes. “Sweet lightning, are you really that much of an imbecile? What _does_ my cousin see in you?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I _will_ be billing the Empire for repairs.”

"Shut up," Gil said irritably. He ran his hand through his hair. Black fire and slag, why couldn't Tarvek do anything straightforward? Hints and clues. Sneaky bastard. He'd have to go back and figure out how his stupid little listening device worked. 

He let out a huff of breath and turned to the other man. "You're short a fortress. Come stay on Castle Wulfenbach while we're working out the details of rebuilding." His tone implied that it was less an invitation than an order.

Von Blitzengaard raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “And which cell are you putting me in? I don’t think so, Wulfenbach.” He took a step back, eyes scanning around for a path to disappear down.

"Look, I need you," Gil said reluctantly. "Someone needs to tell me I'm being stupid. And until I get Tarvek back, it's going to be you. I don't trust you, but you know what I'll do to you if we _don't_ find Tarvek."

Martellus looked at the young Baron for a long moment. “My throat’s going to get sore,” he said dryly.

Gil growled and turned away, stalking back towards the support fleet landing zone without a word.

 

It was needlessly convoluted, but that was Tarvek for you. As if anyone would know you needed the ring to operate the control unit in the first place. Gil stared down at the ring, frowning. Now, which order... He depressed the leftmost ruby, relieved when it clicked down, then the one second to the right. The center one would be too obvious, wouldn't it. And he was sure if he'd done it wrong, something painful would have happened to him. Luckily he _did_ actually listen when Tarvek spoke, despite his lover's claims.

The control panel's lights blinked fitfully for a moment before settling into a warm glow. He set the ring in the appropriate niche and twisted, fully activating the machine. 

"Lovely," Martellus said dryly. "Does it play a tune as well?" 

The man was on the other side of the desk, leaning back nonchalantly in a chair with his feet perched on the top of the wooden barrier between them. Gil gave him a stern glare. "No," he said shortly, starting to fiddle with the controls.

“What _does_ it do, then?” Von Blitzengaard couldn’t quite keep the note of interest out of his voice. He might specialize in biological engineering, but he was still a Spark. He did manage to maintain his pose of polite boredom, despite that.

“It’s a collection hub,” Gil replied absently, flicking a last switch. Voices filled the room, ones he recognized. Courtiers. He started to get angry, then he realized it was just an innocuous conversation. Not the mouse he was looking for, then. He turned a knob, and the voices cut off abruptly, replaced with new ones. No. Another notch, another conversation, again and again until he was ready to scream, and then…

This one started with a muffled sound, then a thud, and a curse. “What happened to kidnapping _princesses_ , then? His Royal Highness weighs a ton.”

“Well, they certainly found Tarvek.”

That startled a laugh out of Gil, then he flushed. “Shut up.” There was a time to twit his lover about things like that, and this wasn’t it.

Another voice had hushed the first, and for a while, all there was were muffled curses, and sounds of movement. And an airship engine.

Gil lurched to his feet and started pacing. Why the devil hadn’t Tarvek made a way to jump ahead in these recordings? Or… why hadn’t he shown him how, if he had? He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself calm. He just needed a target. _Then_ he could tear them apart with his bare hands.

“You’re going to make yourself dizzy.” Martellus had pulled out a dagger and was using it to clean his nails. “Why don’t you go try to sleep and let me handle this?”

“Sleep? _Sleep?_ While Tarvek’s in danger?” Gil stared at him incredulously. He felt ill just contemplating the notion. He had to keep moving, had to _do_ something.

The other man rolled his eyes. “They aren’t going to kill him. If they wanted him dead, they wouldn’t have dragged his lardly ass out of here. I’ll wake you up the instant I hear anything useful. And _you’ll_ be better fit to blow up the _right_ fortress if you aren’t falling over.” He snorted sardonically. “Have you slept at all since he vanished? It’s been, what, two days? Go lie down before someone drugs you.” The raised eyebrow left no question as to who ‘someone’ might be.

“You wouldn’t dare.” His voice dripped menace.

“Ahem.” Von Blitzengaard set his dagger delicately on the table, point towards Gil. “As per our arrangement, Herr Baron,” and the title was saturated with sarcasm, “you are being a blithering idiot. Go sleep before I make you.”

Gil looked at the knife, then up at his lover’s cousin. He clenched his jaw on anything he could have said and whirled, storming out of the room. He did leave strict orders with a pair of soldiers to keep an eye on the man; nothing could make him give Martellus free rein of Castle Wulfenbach.

A few moments later found him stretched across the bed he shared with Tarvek, staring at the ceiling. It still smelled like that flower-scented nonsense his beloved put in his hair.

"Tar," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm going to find you. And the people who did this to you..." His lips parted in a snarl, his eyelids lifting again so he could level a death-glare at nothing in particular. 

Whatever Von Blitzengaard said, Gil wasn't planning on sleeping any time soon. The disciplines his father had taught him were still in force, and he could focus for another few days without any ill effects. However, he was happy enough to escape the other man for some time so he could _think._ Let his captive do the tedious work. 

Gil crossed his arms behind his head and started making a mental list of all the troops, specialists, clanks, weapons, and other equipment he would have available for the coming raid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lir agreed to let me add Tweedle to the story on the condition that "Gil gets to punch him in his stupid face," but after writing this chapter together, she's starting to LIKE him and claims she hates me. -- Veet
> 
> Veet and I are at Dragon*Con this weekend, and in all probability won't have much time (not to mention inclination) for writing. It may take some time to get chapter four up, but we thought we should let you have this chapter anyway. -- Liritar


End file.
